Coral Fabrique was never cut of the same cloth,
for prettily patterned was the life she led—
held together by needle and thread.

There were the polka dots of her childhood,
for the beach balls she loved to kick;

paisley paired with denim in adolescence,
to better match her Crowned Victoria lipstick;

florals in the bloom of motherhood,
for what better to mask the spit-up;

oatmeal tweed in her golden years,
sharing wisdom over steaming teacups;

violet velvet in the twilight of her life,
protecting the richness of her jewels;

satin and lace in her last months,
to match the lining of her shiny box,
as she once would have matched
purses and shoes, and sometimes socks.